Wisdom Beyond Years
by CarelessAngel16
Summary: Harry Potter is abused at home. But what if someone found out? And what if that someone went to the only one they knew for sure would be able to help? SS/HP mentor, rated T for child abuse.  DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN HARRY POTTER, J.K. ROWLING DOES.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: this is my ****first ever fanfic, so please be nice. The chapter is short, but that is because this is an introduction to the rest of the story. Hope you enjoy! DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN HARRY POTTER, J.K. ROWLING DOES.  
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_**Chapter**__** 1**_

To an outsider, Number Four, Privet Drive would seem like any other average Surrey home. Even on the inside, nothing unusual would be suggested to the untrained eye: Vernon Dursley, the proud father; Petunia Dursley, the adoring mother; and Dudley Dursley, their beloved son. There were quite a few pictures of them scattered around the house, decorating the walls living room mantelpiece. Nothing at all in the household would suggest that there was, in fact, another inhabitant in this upper-middle class home in the South-West of London.

That unnoticed inhabitant was Harry Potter. Smaller and skinnier than average, he was the son of Petunia's sister, Lily Potter. He looked just like a small clone of his father, James Potter, with his unruly, pitch-black hair and pale complexion. He did not, however, share his father's eyes; no, they were his mother's, bright green and sparkling with intelligence. The reason the Dursleys were attempting to make him as invisible as possible was because he had an ability that his relatives frowned upon: magic, or, as they liked to put it, 'freakishness'. This was the reason why they had stuck him in a cupboard; this was the reason he'd had to take the brunt of their aggression. Or he was, until one fateful day when someone found out about his treatment at his so-called 'home'.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: thanks to those of you who ****reviewed. It's really encouraging. Please review. By the way, should anyone be confused by this chapter, this story does take place in England, where to average school day 9am – 3:15pm. Enjoy!**

_**Chapter 2**_

Harry Potter sat in class in the back row, working quietly. The sleeves of his too large school jumper were rolled up several times so that he could actually use his hands. This was English, his favourite lesson, and he would not let some pesky oversized piece of clothing spoil it. The reason he liked this lesson so much was not just because it was so interesting, but also because the teacher, Miss Chadwicke, was different from the others. The other teachers would ignore Harry, even if he knew the answer or needed help. Miss Chadwicke would pick on him when he knew what the answer was and came over to help if he asked for it. At the moment they were studying different types of poetry, which he really enjoyed.

At that moment, the bell rang, signalising the end of school. English had been their last lesson, the only lesson after lunch.

"Your homework," Miss Chadwicke shouted over the scuffling of thirty-two seven-year-olds packing away their things to get to lunch on time, "is to write a limerick of your own, to be handed in next lesson! Harry, please stay behind for a bit, I'd like a word." With that, she stepped behind her desk and started to sort out the pieces of homework she had set the previous lesson.

Harry walked up to her, wondering why she wanted to talk to him. She didn't look up from the pieces of homework until everyone else had left the room. After the door had shut behind the last student, she turned her young face to Harry, looking concerned.

"Take a seat, please, Harry," she said gently, indicating a front row seat directly in front of her desk. Harry did so, wondering why Miss Chadwicke looked so concerned. She was nice, but why would she be concerned about _him_? He was just a freak after all, everyone said so.

Miss Chadwicke hesitated. She had only started teaching the previous year, and had left university but two years ago. Even though her little sister was a psychology student at university right now, and talked about it a lot, neither had any idea about how to start a conversation like this.

"I've noticed," she started carefully, "that you are always dressed in oversized clothes. You are also the skinniest boy in your year, and I saw disturbingly many bruises and scars on your arms when it was so warm yesterday. Is there anything going on at home that shouldn't be? Are your relatives treating you badly?" She looked at Harry very intently.

Harry was confounded. A teacher, an _adult_, worried about his wellbeing? It couldn't be. He wondered if he should tell her. He remembered the last time he had told someone. Mr. Kestella, Miss Chadwicke's predecessor, had asked the same thing two years ago, just after Harry had started school. Harry hadn't wanted to lie, so he told Mr. Kestella how he was treated at home. When Social Services called, the Dursleys had convinced them that harry bruised easily and liked to draw attention to himself by telling lies. After the officials had left, Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had given him the punishment of his life. They had made sure to teach him what happened if he ever told again.

"Harry," Miss Chadwicke interrupted his troubled thoughts, not unkindly, "if there are problems at home, you can tell me. How can I help you if you don't tell me the problem? I am here to help." Harry pondered this. He had to admit, there was logic in his teacher's words, and he so desperately wanted someone to know.

While Harry talked, Miss Chadwicke grew increasingly shocked, agitated – and _furious_. How dare the Dursley family mistreat this child? From what her shy student told her, they had beaten, starved and neglected him, in addition to forcing him to do _all_ the chores in the entire household and locking him in a cupboard for days on end. When the seven-year-old child fearfully added, "Please don't call Social Services!" at the end of his gruesome story, and she reassured him several time that she wouldn't, she almost saw red.

"Do you have any idea," she said with forced calm, "as to why your aunt and uncle treat you like that?" She fumbled with the drawer of her desk and eventually took out – and squeezed –the little beanbag her thoughtful sister had provided her with for stressful situations, which _this _definitely counted as.

"They say it's because I'm a freak," Harry said sadly, "because I can make weird things happen."

"Like turning Mr. Richardson's wig blue on April Fool's Day?" Miss Chadwicke asked, perplexed, "I thought that was funny. The whole staff did. Earlier that day I myself had emptied a bucket of blue food colouring on his head when his wig was still in his pocket. He resembled a Smurf for a week." She smiled fondly at the memory.

Harry looked at her, shocked at the revelation that she knew it was _he_ who had turned the wig blue. Miss Chadwicke decided it was best to wrap up the conversation.

"You may go," she said, and the little boy hurried out. The Dursleys would not have to worry about Social Services – yet.

Claire Chadwicke unlocked her bicycle from the teachers' bike shed. She always cycled to and from work. It helped clear her head. Today, however, it did not do much good. She even cycled the longer, quieter route from Park Road Primary School on one side of Little Whinging to Spinner's End on the other side. Harry's words refused, point blank, to leave her head. She knew who he was, of course. Both Claire and her sister Helen had been born squibs to two Healers at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. Both had been killed by Lord Voldemort, as they had worked for the Order of the Phoenix during the war. She had grown up in Spinner's End and lived in her parents' old home. She had made friends with Lily Evans, and just about every other child living there.

As Claire cycled down the driveway and around the back of her house, she came to a decision. It was time she visited an old friend. A friend who lived next door who would be home by now since it was the summer break. A friend in the magical world who did not tolerate child abuse. A friend called Severus Snape.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: ****sorry it took me so long to update – real life is getting to my brain. Again, thanks to those who reviewed, it makes me really happy to see people liking my work – and special thanks to Feenrai who pointed out a mistake in Chapter 2 – instead of "packing away their things to get to lunch on time" it should be "packing away their things to get home on time". I'm sorry; it was a minor mistake which (hopefully) won't happen again. Please review. **

_**Chapter 3**_

There was an insistent knocking on the front door of Severus Snape's home on Spinner's End. He looked at the clock, which told him it was a quarter to four. He should have known. It was the first day of summer break, after all.

Severus found himself dreading the moment where he would have to open the door and let in that overly cheerful chatterbox of a teacher. He liked her very much, but sometimes she could really get on his nerve with her never-ending, irksome waffling. He did not know it yet, but he was in for a big surprise.

He opened the door, and sure enough, there stood Claire Chadwicke, but not with her customary overly-cheerful smile plastered over her pleasant features. No, it was a frown of concern, which was unusual behaviour for the brown-haired, blue-eyed teacher.

"Are you going to come in," Severus said, somewhat exasperatedly, "or would you rather stand out there looking like a clown whose balloons have escaped?" Claire snapped out of her brooding and stepped inside.

"I'm sorry," she said, once inside, "I was lost in thought." She braced herself for a sarcastic remark, and was not disappointed.

"What were you contemplating, how to best annoy me? Or was it how to make me worried by looking uncharacteristically serious?" At this, one corner of her mouth pulled up, but still there was no unnaturally bright grin.

"Worried, are you?"

"Just a little."

She sighed, "You're going to hate me for this."

"Why?" Severus queried, puzzled. First the serious face, now _that_ line? What was going on?

"A child in my class is being seriously abused," Claire forced herself to begin, knowing her old friend would not like this at all.

"And…?" he prompted, not liking where this was going.

"And I would very much appreciate it if you could go check on him." She was beating about the bush deliberately; she knew he would hate the mere thought of it.

"Why are you asking me?" By this time he was quite suspicious and agitated.

"Because…" she faltered, cleared her throat and tried again. "Because said child happens to be Harry Potter." She waited for the explosion, and, once again, was not disappointed.

A few shouting fits and hurried explanations later, they had both sat down and decided to discuss the matter slightly more calmly.

"And you're quite sure he's being abused?" Severus asked for what seemed like the millionth time, except this time the meaning of the question was not shouted.

"Yes, I'm telling you, I saw the effects it had on his appearance and behaviour. I've been trying to tell you this for the past hour!" Claire was exasperated by this time, getting very impatient with her old friend.

"I'm sure that it's not as bad as it seems. I'm sure that his relatives are only punishing him as they see fit. Even if it's a lot of punishment, it is only to be expected, knowing Potter's father."

"That is exactly the point; he _doesn't_ know his father. Besides, you can hardly blame anything Harry does on James, he's Lily's son too! Also, I do not exaggerate, that remains my sister's job."

The old Lily argument would normally have caused him to shut up, but not this time. "I never said you exaggerated, I was merely implying that Potter might be. He is probably spoiled at home, wallowing in fame and self-pity –"

Claire leapt to her feet, towering over Severus and startling him into silence. "THAT'S IT! Stop that _right now_ Severus Tobias Snape! You _know_ he's grown up away from the wizarding world! He doesn't even know he's famous, who he really is! You, of all people should know, or at the very least suspect, that he would be downtrodden where he lives right now! _You know what Petunia is like!_" After this tirade, she was quite out of breath. She sat back down, still shaking with rage, and glaring at Severus and resembling her sister Helen in a bad mood.

Severus was taken aback, to say the least. He'd never seen Claire lose her temper like that, and it was even more unusual for her to start shouting; normally she would go quiet, then not talk at all.

After a short pause, he recovered and said: "So precious Potter isn't being coddled enough? Petunia wouldn't dare mistreat her sister's child. Surely, if Helen had a child, then suddenly died, you would look after her child?"

"And since when is my name Petunia Dursley? Haven't you been listening? I've _seen_ the bruises, seen how skinny he is, how he only wears oversized hand-me-downs, his cousin's, I suspect – I've heard how he winces when he moves in a specific way. Please, just check on him, so I can have a quiet night."

Severus was becoming increasingly agitated; the matter would have to be very serious if Claire became so upset that she started shouting. And still, he hated admitting he was wrong, especially to her. She would always get this knowing look that made him feel stupid. Yet, as he thought about it, the boy _was _Lily's child, after all, and he _hated _child abuse. Knowing he was fighting a losing battle, he offered a rather half-hearted argument: "Fine. Assuming you are right, why take the matter to me? Why not Dumbledore?"

Claire rolled her eyes at him. "You know precisely why I'm not going to Dumbledore. You know what he's like. First he'd offer me about a dozen sherbet lemons, then give me time to say whatever I need to say, and after that he would spend the rest of the day waffling on about blood protection, and Lily's sacrifice and the like. He wouldn't even _listen_ to half of what I'd say!" By this time she looked as though she might lose her temper again, so Severus thought it best to surrender before exploded completely.

"Alright, calm down. I'll go see if the Potter brat is being treated like a prince enough. Just don't expect me to be happy about it!"

"Thank you. That's all I wanted." Claire got up and went to the front door, only to then stick her head back in. "I thought you were taking a trip to Number Four, Privet Drive," she said with false innocence, raising her eyebrows quizzically.

"You never said you wanted me to go _immediately_," Severus groaned, but he got up nonetheless.

"Why do you think I came here _today_?" Claire was picking up her sister's use of rhetorical questions. That was not good, not in Severus' books, anyway.

On his way to Privet Drive, there was only one thought occupying his mind: _'For once, I hope that Claire is wrong.'_


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: I'M SO SORRY IT TOOK SO LONG! My computer got a malware and everything I had on there got deleted. I had to rewrite the WHOLE of Chapter 4 from memory. But it's up now so no worries (and hopefully no hard feelings). Please review, as always. **

Severus stood in the front lawn of Number Four, Privet Drive, Concealment Charm in place, contemplating how to best get in. He could not believe he was really doing this, but he would hate to see what Claire would do to him if he didn't. But really, this was ridiculous. The windows were slightly open, as the day was warm, but both front and back door were closed. He was an Animagus, but the Dursleys might just be a bit suspicious if a bat swooped in through their living room window, in the middle of the day no less, and by nightfall he planned on being back home. Besides, the brat would be in bed by then.

To his great relief, a car pulled into the driveway of Number Four at that very moment, rendering his contemplations unnecessary. Severus quickly cast a Disillusionment Charm on himself and moved closer to the front door. A large, beefy man with no neck and an enormous moustache climbed out of the car. According to Claire's (rather accurate) descriptions, this would have to be Vernon Dursley. Interesting. If this man's size was anything to go by, neither Potter nor his cousin would be pixies.

Dursley opened the front door. Just when the gap was wide enough, Severus swiftly slipped into the house. The difficult part was over. Now all that was left to do was watch.

Harry James Potter was in the back garden, pruning rose bushes. Or attempting to. His punishment for being late was to prune rose bushes with a blunt pair of nail scissors that had sandpaper wrapped around the handle. By the end of this punishment the fingers on his left hand would be blistered and bleeding. On top this, he would also be punished for not completing his chores. The Dursleys could be very contradictive at times.

Just then, the whole Dursley residence resonated with Uncle Vernon's cry of "BOY!"

_Well, here goes_, Harry thought bitterly as he trudged back up the house to meet his inevitable fate.

"Your aunt just told me you were half an hour late home! Explain! NOW!" Vernon roared, sending spit flying everywhere.

"As I have already told Aunt Petunia, my teacher kept me behind to talk to me about missing homework." Throughout the six years he had been living at the Dursleys, Harry had become very adept at lying out of self-preservation. What he said next, however, was no lie. "And besides, this isn't my home. Home is where you feel safe. That. Is. Not. Here."

Vernon let out a roar of fury and collided with the small boy with the force (and probably the weight) of a speeding truck. It took Harry half an hour to get away from his uncle's flying fists by crawling into his cupboard, where he then fell asleep, exhausted.

Severus was angry. No. Not angry. Beyond angry. In fact, to say that he was furious would be an immense understatement. How _dare_ they mistreat Lily's son? Right now he felt like hexing the Dursleys to Pluto and back, kicking them into next week and from there cursing them into the nearest convenient black hole.

But Severus couldn't afford to be rash. He would have to plan carefully. He couldn't go to Dumbledore until he had Harry away from the Dursleys. The fall of the wards around the house was both good and bad; good because it would convince Dumbledore, bad because Death Eaters could now waltz in to their hearts' content.

For now, Severus had to go home and think. He could exact revenge on the Dursleys later. His primary goal at the moment was to get Harry out of there. Then he would see about everything else.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

**A/N: PLEASE READ ALL OF THIS! I'm so sorry! I had to put the story on hold because a) my mum stole my Windows computer and I didn't know how to change the setting to one that could be uploaded on Fanfiction on an Apple, b) I had just started Sixth Form so I had the appropriate amount of work to do, c) I kind of ran out of ideas on what to write next and struggled to come up with a plan for the near future of the story, and d) my mum decided to go psycho on me. Again, I'm really sorry. But I'm back now, so no worries. Oh, and a warning. Some of the things in this chapter are a little (oh all right, VERY) unlikely, but hey, we are in the wonderful realm of fan fiction where anything is possible. Enjoy!**

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><p>"You know, I'd say I told you so, but I doubt it would give me much satisfaction at this point."<p>

Severus and Claire were sitting in the latter's kitchen, steaming mugs of tea standing in front of them. Following what he had witnessed, Severus had gone straight to Claire to describe what he had seen and develop a plan to rescue the seven-year-old boy who behaved like someone ten years older.

"Somehow, that reply does not surprise me," Severus said, rolling his eyes. "The question, however, remains: What are we going to do?"

"I don't know," Claire replied, eyes closed and eyebrows furrowed, "I'm trying to think."

"You're making thinking look painful," stated a new voice from the direction of the door. Claire and Severus both jumped and looked at the door. There, leaning casually against the doorframe, was Claire's pale, red-haired, grey-eyed younger counterpart.

"Helen? I didn't know you were coming back form Uni today!" Claire exclaimed, looking surprised at her sister's sudden appearance.

"Um, yeah you did," Helen replied, picking up a brown book with multicoloured polka dots from the counter close to the door and waving it at her sister. "I told you, what, a week ago? It's in your diary."

"Oh." Claire looked put out and slightly guilty. "Sorry. I completely forgot. My mind was occupied by teaching and things. And people," she added, looking at Severus pointedly, who was beginning to look a little guilty himself.

"It's fine. It's not like I've forgotten where we live. Nor am I particularly adverse to walking," Helen added thought fully, staring into space for a few seconds before snapping back to reality. "Anyway, it sounds to me like you two have a problem on your hands. Anything I can help with?" She sat down at the table, obviously not prepared to take 'no' for an answer. At a loss of what else to do, the other two quickly filled her in on what had happened; Harry, the suspected abuse, confirmation of abuse, and the problem of removing Harry form the Dursleys covertly.

Helen looked lost in thought for ten or so minutes, during which she opened her mouth several times, vaguely resembling a ginger fish, then closed it again. Then, quite unexpectedly, she smiled. Catching Claire and Severus's blank looks, her smile widened.

"You find yourselves in an odd situation. In fact, some might go so far as to say it's a _Strange Situation_." While Severus was still more confused by this, Claire gasped in comprehension.

"You mean–?"

"Yes."

"But doesn't that involve–?"

"–only in the original. If I could–"

"–then maybe you could–"

"–precisely. Then you'd have the chance to–"

"–yes! And they wouldn't even–"

"–no, not until they–"

"–brilliant! We'd even have enough time to–"

"Could you two share with the rest of the class, please?" Severus interrupted irritably. Granted, he was used to them neglecting to finish their sentences once the other understood and prone to thinking the same thing at the same time, but that did not make less annoying or confusing.

"We may or may not have the beginnings of a plan," Helen explained, grinning.

"Could you be any less specific?" Came the sarcastic retort.

"What Helen means is that we can get Harry out of Privet Drive by means of a psychological investigation," Claire explained, looking as though Christmas had come early. When Severus continued to look puzzled, Helen rolled her eyes.

"Really Severus, I seem to remember you intelligent. There is a psychological study called the Strange Situation, conducted by Mary Ainsworth in 1970 and basically involves a mother and her child going into a room accompanied by a stranger and the mother leaving the room for a few minutes at a time. The reaction of the child can then be observed and categorised to measure the quality of the attachment to the mother. The children in the original study were about a year old, which is not very useful to us, but if I can redesign the study so that older children can be used, or even alter it completely to assess to effect age has on personality types–"

"–Helen would not only get her summer assignment done, but also give us the chance to get Harry away from the Dursleys by involving them in the study and thereby getting them to leave Harry alone in the house," Claire finished.

Severus stared. The plan was well thought out and so unusual that it might just work. What had shocked him, however, was their resemblance to an irritating pair of twins in Ravenclaw he had the misfortune to teach.

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The doorbell of Number Four, Privet Drive rang through the lazy afternoon air. Petunia, who had been in the kitchen, washing up after lunch, hurried to open the door to a pale, red-haired stranger with a black clipboard and a broad smile fixed on her face.

"Hello. My name is Helen Chadwicke and I'm a student of Psychology at Regents' College University, London. I was wondering if you would like to take part in a study to investigate the effect of age on personality types?"

Petunia Dursley looked at the stranger – Helen Chadwicke, apparently – slightly suspiciously. She was sure that the name sounded familiar, and Chadwicke's face looked vaguely familiar, too. What was more, she had just been invited to partake in a _psychological study_. That phrase sparked the connotations of weird and abnormal. However, she did not wish to be rude, so she said, "What would that study involve, precisely?"

Helen's smile, if at all possible, widened. "Well, you and your child, if you have one, would allow me to accompany you to a location of your choosing. This could be a restaurant or a playground. I would merely sit or stand in a corner observing, and making notes on, your behavior. I doubt you would even notice my presence. If you do agree to take part, you have every right to withdraw from the investigation. You also have the right to ask me not to use the data I collected and your results will, of course, remain completely private and confidential unless you tell me otherwise. If you feel uncomfortable at any time during the investigation, you may tell me to stop."

Petunia was overwhelmed by the information that had just been rattled off at top speed. So her son, if she agreed, would be part of this too? But then, she reminded herself, she could always ask for the observations not to be used… But what would the neightbours think if they found out that her family was involved in a psychological study?

Helen seemed to notice her continued suspicion, and talked on. "James Logan, MP for this constituency, backs this project. He came into one of my lectures where I was giving a small presentation, and was apparently so impressed that he put me in touch with the British Psychological Society and told me that he would back any research I conducted. I even have a letter," she added, pausing to take a folded piece of paper out of the bag she was carrying, "signed by James Logan himself."

Petunia took the letter. Sure enough, there was James Logan's signature at the bottom. If the MP was in favour of this research, it seemed socially acceptable enough. Mrs. Next Door with the daughter she kept bragging about would be suitably jealous…

"I see no problem," Petunia said at last, though stiffly. "Just let me tell my son to get ready."

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Once the car had disappeared form sight (with Petunia behind the steering wheel), Severus and Claire walked to the front door, which the former then magically unlocked. Once inside, he made both himself and Claire visible once more. They had agreed that Helen would do the luring-the-Dursleys-out-of-the-house part, since neither one of the others knew as much about psychology as she did. It was also important (according to Helen) that Harry was familiar with at least one of them. That way, Harry knew he could trust them.

"Where did you say Harry went after Vernon hit him?" Claire whispered, looking around as though something might jump out at them; she felt a bit like a burglar.

"This cupboard here," Severus whispered back, pointing to the one beneath the stairs. They crept over to it and, with a wave of the wand, unlocked it. The door swung open to reveal the small, skinny form of Harry Potter. He had obviously been trying to sleep, but slowly turned around once the sound of the door to his cupboard unlocking registered with his brain.

"Miss – Miss Chadwicke?" he croaked in disbelief. His eyes flickered between her and Severus, who was closer, before turning his full attention to Severus. "Who are you?"

"This, Harry," Claire answered, smiling tentatively, "is Severus Snape. You'll be living with him from now on."

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><p><strong>AN: Ok, that was Chapter 5. Just so you know, I only have a rough idea of where I want this to go and no ideas for Chapter 6. Any suggestions would be welcome.**


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